


Necessary

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-20
Updated: 2007-08-20
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It was almost necessary for us to become lovers, if you think about it.





	Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Title:** Necessary

**Author:** Greensl33ves

**Disclaimer:** HP  & Co. are not mine

**Notes:** Unbeta'd, so deal with it. Best read to music, like Three Doors Down, Snow Patrol, Creed, or something along those lines.

***

It was almost necessary that we became lovers.

Think about it.

In a single day, all your friends are dead.

James and Lily, murdered in their beds.

Peter, killed in the street.

And their murderer, Sirius, in prison.

My best friend in the world, Sirius, in prison, for murdering all my other friends.

Now think about it. Thirteen years later, you find out it isn't true. You see him for less than an hour, and it is awkward, because every explosion you ever caused by thinking of him, every picture of him you burned, every time you screamed yourself hoarse at his memory, all of those come creeping back as you stare at his dirty, starved face.

Then you don't see him for almost another year, until one night, when you are drunk and the doorbell rings.

"Hullo, who is it," I muttered, opening the door. It must be someone with a purpose. No one visits Wicker Lane that late at night-Knockturn Alley has nothing on this place.

And there he stood, dirty and disheveled, staring at me from under long dirty hair. "Hullo, Moony." His voice was scratchy from disuse.

I stared, openmouthed, for a full minute before I handed him the whiskey bottle in my hand. "Thirsty, Padfoot?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

He looked past me at the coffee table, where a picture album sat open to waving pictures of me and him and Peter and James, horsing around on the castle lawn. Then he took a long pull from the bottle and smiled.

"Been a while since I've had anything alcoholic. You still have shitty taste in booze, Moony."

"Yeah," I said, shrugging and moving to let him in.

He didn't budge. "Remus..."

"Yeah?"

His voice cracked slightly. "I've missed you."

I looked at him then, really looked at him, with that amazing power of observation one sometimes gains when one isn't quite sloshed yet but is getting there fast. He was wearing ratty Muggle jeans, a black t-shirt, and an old trench coat. He had a three day growth on his face and chin-length hair that is dirty and greasy but brushed nonetheless. He was tired and aged, and his eyes were too sunken. They weren't their natural light gray, either, but the darker gray of faded asphalt.

I pushed my hair back from my face and reached out to him. Only when my face is muffled in the shoulder of his coat could I say back, "I missed you too, Padfoot."

I don't know how long we stood there, half in and half out of my house, holding each other.

Then finally he came inside and I lit another branch of candles and we passed around that whiskey bottle until it was empty and I was so pissed that I couldn't begin to see straight, let alone think it. And when I tried to let him have my bed for the night, he just grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in with him and held onto me and we just laid there in the dark for ages, breathing, me not daring to move as he shuddered and cried drunken tears about sober thoughts.

"God, I've missed you, Remus," he whispered.

I ran a tentative hand down his hair and under his chin, and he froze at my touch. But to me, this was the only really familiar thing about this man in my bed. The face was changed, and so were the hair and the eyes and the everything, but that jaw line was the same as it ever was. No. No, the lips were the same too. Were they?

A sudden thought struck me, a drunken kiss that I remembered from such a long time ago.

I touched my lips to his and Sirius suddenly unfroze, shoving me down against the bed and kissing me back as if his life depended on it. Finally I shoved him off me and he fell off the bed onto the floor, where he stared back up at me with dazed eyes.

"What- what-" I stuttered, unable to get a grip.

"You started it," he accused.

"You-"

"I just, I haven't touched anyone in so many...years, Moony, years. Oh god...I'm sorry Remus."

Drunken bliss took over my brain and I patted the bed. "S'okay. Come back."

The next morning I woke up in his arms with a hell of a hangover and no clothes, same as him.

I moved to scramble backwards, but he must have been watching me because he grabbed hold of my hips and pulled me back.

"Shit, Remus, stop struggling! I'm hungover here, so I'm gonna be brief. Okay?" I nodded slightly and quieted. "Look. You're a werewolf. I'm a wanted criminal. Lord Voldemort came back three nights ago and we'll probably be dead within a month. And...I haven't seen anyone naked in thirteen years, or had sex in thirteen years. So who cares."

"Did we have sex last night then?" I asked, trying not to let my voice crack. Just because I couldn't remember it didn't mean it didn't happen.

"No," he said, and flashed me a dazzling Sirius-smile, "we're going to have sex this afternoon when we've slept off the hangovers."

"Right," I said. It never occurred to me to argue.

The two of us. The last of the Marauders. A man who had been dead to me for so many years, risen up to become the exact opposite.

It was necessary, really, that I would fall in love with my lover.

If only his death hadn't been necessary too.

***

**Author Notes:** Hope you liked it! Please review.

-Steph

aka Greensl33ves


End file.
